Three little words
by The Libran Iniquity
Summary: While on shore leave, Trip finally hears Malcolm say those three magical little words... (NON-SLASH)


A/N: This is not slash. This is simply a potent mixture of Trip, Malcolm, shore leave and Anaran ale. The ale is mine. For a disclaimer, go see my profile page, because the ale's about ALL I own *hic*  
_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

"We shouldn't be doing this. Really, this is completely inappropriate."

"Shut up, Loo-tenant. You're ruinin' the moment."

Malcolm Reed stared. "What moment?"

Charles "Trip" Tucker stared back, rolling his eyes. He sighed. Obviously, _some_ people never got the point of shore leave. "This moment," he replied, waving his arm at the scenery around them. "Here I am, tryin' to get you all relaxed and you're doin' everythin' you can to get out of it."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow. "I was hardly aware you were making an effort, Commander."

"First off, don't call me that. We're on shore leave. My name is Trip."

"Whatever you say, Commander," Malcolm smirked, finally letting himself take a look at the view surrounding the two officers.

"That's not even funny, Malcolm," Trip replied. "Look, when was the last time you let yourself go?"

Malcolm glared. "I have never to my knowledge, as you so blithely put it, 'let myself go'. I'm a Starfleet officer, I do my job and be done with it."

"Starfleet, huh?" Trip got up to stretch his legs. "I've heard a lot about that organisation. Heard a lot about you, as well."

"Sir?" Malcolm was genuinely baffled.

"You know, Mister Reed, I heard a lot of talk that you're just another one o' them Vulcans." Trip stopped pacing, and turned to face his friend, looking at him incredulously. "Except, o' course, that your ears got fried off by a phase pistol."

His friend started laughing. "That is one of the most stupid things I have ever heard," he said, shaking his head. "And I've heard a lot of things."

"So I hear," Trip quipped, and was rewarded by another mini-laughing fit from the normally oh-so-reticent lieutenant. It made a nice change.

Malcolm stopped laughing. "I suppose I should thank you for arranging all of this," he said seriously, looking around again. "Although as I said already, it is completely inappropriate. I'm not all that sure we should even be here."

"Malcolm Stuart Reed, you are the limit," Trip sighed. "The whole point o' this little exercise is to get away from work and to have a little fun. I do presume you know what 'fun' means?" he asked in mock seriousness.

"Is that the point, Commander?"

Trip sighed again. Obviously, this was going to take some time. Crossing the room, he picked up two bottles of the local tipple. He had it on good authority from the bartender the stuff was strong... whatever it was. Anaran ale didn't exactly ring any bells with someone who hailed from Earth. Both bottles were duly opened, and he offered one to Malcolm.

"If you're goin' to be so damn formal, Loo-tenant," he said, drawing out his friend's rank, "then I may as well pull some rank on you. Drink. Now," he finished, thrusting the bottle into Malcolm's hand. "I'm not takin' no for an answer."

"Yes, sir," was the sarcastic reply, and both officers drank deeply of their latest alien intoxicant. Trip finished his, and stared at the bottle. Damn. It really was strong. They were going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning. He looked over at his friend; Malcolm's bottle was half-empty, and he looked quizzically at Trip.

"So, _Commander_," he drawled in a near-perfect Southern accent, "what little strategy have you got going on here? Get me drunk, have your wicked way with me?" Malcolm smirked.

Now it was Trip's turn to look surprised, then he quickly recovered. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said suggestively, waggling his eyebrows at the lieutenant.

There was a brief pause before both men cracked up laughing; Malcolm doubled up, and duly dropped his ale on the floor, smashing the bottle. He wiped some tears from his eyes, and looked miserably at the glass shards now decorating the floor. "I think I'm going to need another drink," he concluded sadly.

Trip fetched another bottle, but refused to hand it over. Instead he held it out of Malcolm's reach, and with one hand, kept him pinned to the chair he was sat on. "Couple of things we need to get out of the way first, Malcolm," he said.

"Pardon me?"

Trip grinned. "You need to set somethin' straight, Loo-tenant. Repeat after me; 'I, Malcolm Stuart Reed -"

"I, Malcolm Stuart Reed -"

"- do solemnly declare -"

"- do solemnly declare -"

"- that I am one o' the most uptight officers -"

"What?!"

"Say it..."

"- that I am one of the most uptight officers -"

"- and one o' the biggest killjoys -"

"... and one of the biggest killjoys -"

"- that the _Enterprise_ has on duty."

"- that the _Enterprise_ has on duty. There. I said it. Can I have my drink now?" Malcolm glowered.

Instead of yielding, Trip merely chuckled. "One more thing, Loo-tenant."

"No."

"I haven't told you yet."

"I am not going and making an arse of myself in front of someone," Malcolm reiterated. Hell, even he knew the commander was capable of almost anything, given enough motive and alcohol.

"Now who said you were goin' to do that?"

Malcolm glared. "I know you, Trip."

Trip sighed again. "Just one more thing, Malcolm. Then you can have your drink."

"What?" Malcolm asked, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in the general region of his stomach, definitely not caused by the half-bottle of ale he had already had. He was doomed. He knew it.

"I want you to say somethin'."

"Say what?"

"Three little words. If you get them right, we'll both get drunk together before the cap'n finds us. If not, then..." Trip left the sentence open to interpretation.

"Three words?" Malcolm repeated to himself.

"I believe you already know what they should be." Hey, Trip had to give the man some kind of a fighting chance, lest he be targeted with a phase pistol back on board ship. Malcolm Reed was capable of almost anything, given enough motive and weaponry.

Silence, during which Trip dangled the ale in question over the lieutenant's head. No response.

Then Malcolm's head snapped up. "Three words, Commander?" he asked, the beginnings of a smile forming on his face.

"Three simple, beautiful, little words, Loo-tenant."

Malcolm smiled. "Bugger the cannons."

Trip handed over the Anaran ale.


End file.
